Never betray a deal with a barsoomian devil
by Crustbucket
Summary: Based on the events that transpire after John Carter and Tars Tarkus sack Zodanga. New charactors are introduced and it is a work in progress.


Never betray a deal with a barsoomian devil - translated by Crustbucket

Forward

I was sitting in the shade of a palm tree, people watching, listening to the sounds of waves as they crashed on the beach, vacationing in Mazatlan, when a peddler of sorts approached me. He presented an odd assortment of what I would call useless junk but a book bound with strange black leather and covered with intricate calligraphy caught my attention. Out of idle curiosity I flipped thru the tome and admired the beauty of the artistic symbols that were hand painted within. With lazy interest I listened to the peddler's sales pitch which included an absurd story regarding the finding of the book, which involved a lost cave diver, a strong current, a cavern containing aztec gold, artifacts, and a green six limbed alien.

Chuckling, I handed the book back to the peddler and told him, "Not interested".

Undetered and persistent the peddler wears me down with a hard luck story. I was low on cash so after a short haggle in exchange for the book I gave him 2 dollars, a burrito, a lime, and a 1 bottle short six pack of cerveza.

I got home, the book sat forgotten till one evening I happened upon it as I perused my literary collection. I reached for the book, a piece of paper fell out. Written on the paper were english translations for hundreds of the symbols that were within the book. I translated and to my surprise a story based on ERB's John Carter of Mars emerged.

Obviously the book at it's symbols are the handiwork of some hardcore sci-fi uber geek. I bet this person sat and watched that John Carter movie at least 50 times dressed as their favorite charactor and then afterwards wondered why they will never get laid.

Anyway I will update this post as I continue to translate the book, maybe some of you will enjoy.

Chapter 1

Many tales have been told of John Carter and his famous exploits regarding the time he saved a princess and with the aid of Tars Tarkus sacked Zodanga and then afterwards liberated Helium. But this is the tale of one tribe. A small tribe that possessed a ferocious reputation.

Thuria and Clorus had set with three zodes left before dawn.  
Taking advantage of the darkness the transports disgorge the Tharks and there allies some 20 haads from the Zodangan lines that beseige Helium.

Bal Sag a great chieftan of a lesser tribe was among the first to disembark from the transports. His men were easily distinguishable from the other tribes due to the tattoos, ritual scars, brands, multiple piercings and the tropheys that were stitched and stapled to there bodies. Upon Bal Sag's left breast was stapled a goey spine and head of a red man. Upon his right breast the paw of a banth. On his back was stitched a half dozen feet that belonged to green men that he had personally defeated in battle. About his neck a necklace of 40 mummified red man ears. Bal Sag was dressed to impress and as he and his fellow tribe members approached, Tars Tarkus grunted in approval. While Bal Sag conversed with Tars, a few of his men adorned themselves with trophies recently acquired during the sacking of Zodanga. Arrogant and proud they strutted their stuff before the other tribes, only 100 strong but acting like they could administer a beat down to Tar's entire 100,000 strong army.

Mounting up, they rode off and running at the side of each thoat was a calot.

Bal Sag's men spread out and hide themselves among the rocks that litter the base of the escarpment.  
Scarcely had they settled when the sharpest eyed amongst them discern a large mounted patrol of Zodangans heading straight towards their position. Bal Sag waits, his lips clinched tightly on a unlit barsoomian cigar that hangs from the corner of his mouth. He waits till the patrol is almost on top of them then breathes out, "Release the calots".

The milky way stretches across the heavens.  
Myriad stars twinkle and glimmer brightly in the thin atmosphere of the dying planet.  
Green men laugh callously as those stars illuminate a scene of absolute terror and carnage.

An albino calot drags the only remaining living zodangan to the feet of his master.

Xipeuh Toteux. A rare name. Ancient. A leftover from when the extinct race of white men were still sailing Barsoom's shrinking oceans. Legend had it that when Xipeuh Toteux struck his first green man down he had refused to kill him. The name he would have acquired was not suitable. He bided his time then one dark night, alone, unaided, he returned from a heavily fortified enemy encampment with the two severed feet that would provide his namesake. His harness was of the highest quality and in perfect condition. It's leather was black, polished, ingeniously detailed and was rumored to be from the skin of a beast long considered extinct. No one could tell you how old Xipeuh really was. All they could tell you was that he was there a little over 2000 years ago, that blood drenched fateful night, when feuds exploded, and rebelling against their Warhoon jeddak, the progenitors of Bal Sag's tribe fled into the night and in a unprecedented moment in the green races history (but not since) chose their own jeddak by election.

Xipeuh's skin was not the maculated complexion that typified most warhoons (who's breeding programs forgo aesthetics) suggesting that he was of other origin. It was similar to the olive green that was uniform among most hordes, but darker in color.

Xipeuh's dark green skin was covered with tattoos that depicted disturbing scenes of extreme violence.  
Death by combat and secret assassinations, but even more sickening were the acts of sadistic torture that revolted the senses. Even more hideous was the fact that these were not a product of a deranged diseased imagination from some demented artist but in fact illustrated and immortalized real crimes perpetrated by none other than Xipeuh himself. Sixty seven jeddaks had fought there way to power and afterwards succumbed to combat during the 2000 year existince of Bal Sag's tribe but always had there been but one chief torturer.  
To the laughter and applause of packed arenas Xipeuh had practiced and perfected his craft and acknowleged no master.

The zodangan looks at the tattooed feet of Xipeuh and blanches in horror. He retches then looking upwards peers into the eyes of a devil. Pupils black and fathomless well out and engulf his consciousness.

(the horror of a alien pickin your brain apart to fill this spot)

Released from Xipeuh's telepathic assault the zodangan's body collaspses to the ground, his mind in a state of cognative dissonance. Gradually time and space as mortal men recognize it coalesces around the zodangan's awareness. The zodangan regains controls of his faculties and to his horror discovers Xipeuh crouched over him, with what he percieves as a ghastly instrument of torture in hand. From a long needle like device a flexible tube extends to a optical contraption that is strapped to Xipeuh's head. Bal Sag watching in morbid fascination speaks, "No breath red man, no tremble". The procedure is brief and virtually painless but the zodangan who expected anguishing pain feels no relief, just a sense of overwhelming dread as he wonders what deviltry had been placed inside him.

Xipeuh places a box, one sofad square (11.7 inches) before the zodangan.

Xipeuh speaks, "I never utter falsehoods."  
"Death is inside you red man. I placed it within you. Within this box lies your salvation. You have till dawn."

Xipueh points at a key hanging between the two severed feet on his chest.  
He leans over the zodangan and says a name in his ear.  
The zodangan realizes that he must quickly find the only other man who possesses a key to the box and his life.

As the zodangan is led away on thoatback down the slope he passes by calots heading up the slope, bellies destended with meat. More horror awaits as he is led thru the fresh scene of the massacre. Calots bark and yip as they engage in grisly tug of wars. Blood lubricated chunks of red men slide down the outstretched jaws of the hungry calots.

Pointing at the stapled box, a green man laughs out, "don't forget the box" then slaps the back of the zodangan's thoat. The thoat lurches forward, as eager as the zodangan astride it to escape this place of overwhelming terror and dread. As the thoat gallops across the star lit plain the zodangan looks fearfully about him, his mind tottering on the brink of collapse. In pitch black shadows lurk apparations of baleful menace. Phantasms of nightmare shape flit and hover around him. Only one thing kept him riding his course towards the zodangan lines. Only one thing kept him from turning off his course and riding off into nowhere a gibbering madman. He clutched it tightly to his chest. His life in a box.

Chapter 2

Jedwar Zat Arras (supreme commander of Zodanga's expeditionary force), his odwars (generals) and their staffs studied the Helium war vessel schematics that Javis Kandar's agents had recently provided. They listened attentively as Odwar Kronak Naktar (commander of Zodanga's ground assault forces) briefed them on cannon targeting and boarding party tactics designed to exploit weaknesses that careful study of the stolen schematics had revealed.

A commotion distracts the assembled officers. A Medic guides a than (soldier) who is on the verge of collapse and in a state of shock thru the doorway. He bears the mark of recent combat and a box is cruelly stapled to his chest. The medic cries out, "Kronak Naktar this than claims that you possess one of two keys to this box. He further claims that it contains a medical device and life saving instructions that will save him from imminent death." Medical officers rush forward to render aid then draw back in apprehension when they read a name engraved on the front of the box. "Xipueh Toteux!" an officer exclaims with a look of loathing and fear. Officers part and make way as Kronak steps forward and produces a key from a pouch. An expectant hush overcomes the onlookers as Kronak places then turns the key in the keyhole. With an audible click the lid springs open. Revealed within is the promised lifesaving device and an instruction tablet beneath. The medic retrieves the device and tablet then recoils in horror at what is revealed beneath. In the bottom of the box is a rotting head, surrounded by nailless decaying toes and fingers. Recognizing the royal signet ring on a finger the medic cries out, "The head, the head of Rana Kovah, our missing beloved princess, wife of Kronak Naktar and sister of Than Kosis." The war deck erupts into pandemonium. Kronak lets out a heartbreaking cry of grief and despair then draws out his rapier, only the combined effort of 5 or 6 men preventing him from plunging it into himself. Medics (those not engaged in saving the life of the injured than) turn their attention to Kronak. Men weep openly and crowd around the inconsolable grief stricken Kronak and commiserate.

Javis Kandar ever alert for an opportunity to appear noble before his peers, throws his rapier on the ground before Kronak then declares "I pledge all the resources of my house to the cause of Kronak Naktar. The corpses of Xipueh Toteux and all of his foul tribe shall hang from the walls of Zodanga. Issus grant us justice. "

Following suit all the men in that room with great shouts pledge their support. Zat Arras overcome with emotion throws his rapier on the ground before Kronak then announces, "1,000,000 gold pieces will I give to the man who places the severed head of that foul beast at the feet of Kronak Naktar and Than Kosis!"

Secretly Javis wished that Kronak might break loose from the officers that restrained him, then grab one of the rapiers on the ground and fall on it. Emulous and predatory by nature Javis regarded his superior Kronak as an impediment that needed to be removed in his quest for power. His agents had insinuated themselves into Kronak's household and were in the process of planting evidence that would lead to Kronak Naktar's downfall.

Kronak is led away to the medic center under suicide watch while orders are given to send out strong patrols to seek out, engage, and capture any green men found within a 200 haad radius of Zodanga's theater of operations.

A semblence of order is restored but then broken when Zat Arras announces that his nephew Javis Kandar will assume command of Zodanga's ground assault forces. Officers trade each other perplexed and perturbed looks, wondering who will be willing to risk the hot temper that Zat Arras would commonly exhibit if someone expressed reservations concerning his judgement and decisions.  
After a uncomfortable moment a senior odwar speaks out, "With all due respect Jedwar Zat Arras, Our Jeddak Than Kosis would never entrust such a grave responsibility to a untested junior officer who has yet to prove his leadership ability in battle."  
It was a poor choice of words. Zat Arras hated being compared to Than Kosis.  
Zat Arras roars out, "I am in charge here, not Than Kosis. Javis Kandar has the requisite experience. Helium will be reduced and he will ride at my side in triumph and recieve the honors and commendations befitting a hero of Zodanga. I have spoken."  
Zat Arras pauses then speaks again, "Javis and his agents have proven to be highly industrious and a great asset to Zodanga's war effort. I order all patrols to report to him so that he may personally prosecute the search and apprehension of Rana Kovah's murderers."

Javis envisions the reward on display in Zodanga's royal library, a reward that dwarfed his uncle's 1,000,000 gold piece reward, a jeddaks ransom. Javis coldly calculates what he might accomplish with the fantastic reward that was offered for Bal Sag's tribe. With such wealth at his disposal he might one day supplant Than Kosis and become Zodanga's Jeddak himself. He watches Kronak being led off and secretly gloats.

Chapter 3

The greater city of Helium was situated in the middle of a vast plain with only a few notable land marks.  
One of those landmarks was an ancient extinct volcano, once an island in an ocean but now a lone feature that rose some 3000 sofads in height above the yellow moss covered plains that surrounded Helium.  
Concealed on one of the volcano's ridges that extended out from the volcano, two green men scrutinized and speculated on what was going on below them.

Nag Lot - Bal Sag's advisor and tribal historian.  
Wanted - Dead or alive, preferably dead.  
Reward - 100,000  
Tribe - Wartard  
Age - 1053  
Description - Butt ugly  
Hobbies - Killing, drinking and gambling

Nag Lot scrutinized his likeness on the wanted poster. Broken yellow tusks, a livid scar on a cheek, and the top of a skull covered with mummified toes stared back at him. A good likeness Nag Lot thought, the scar was on the wrong cheek. Bal Sag and his men had been the among the first to ransack the royal library of Zodanga. The precious jewels that comprised the bounty for Nag Lot were no longer on display within the library, they had taken up new residence within the confines of Nag Lot's saddle packs. Those jewels had enticed the avarice of many a bounty hunter, fortune seeker, panthan, and other foolhardy men. Many had endured great hardships, then demise instead of fortune, seeking their elusive quarry on Barsoom's unforgiving plains.

Nag Lot laughs and pokes the green man beside him.  
He already knows but asks, "What bounty was set on your ugly face, Atag Braknar"

Atag Braknar - Bal Sag's advisor and chief bookie  
Wanted - Dead or alive, preferably dead.  
Reward - 80,000  
Tribe - Wartard  
Age - 1032  
Description - Butt uglier  
Hobbies - Killing, drinking and excessive gambling

Atag Braknar sourly inspected his likeness on his wanted poster. A pockmarked age ridden face, bloodshot baggy eyes, one broken yellow tusk, rotted teeth, and the top of a skull covered with mummified fingers stared back at him.

Refering to a recent incident Atag spits out, "You can't even sneak into a warhoon camp an steal an unguarded female without getting caught. My ugly face has a lower price then your ugly face because I do not get caught. You are a drunken blundering buffoon while I am a seasoned professional. If the zodangans truly knew of all the discomfit that I have caused them, my bounty would far exceed yours."

Nag Lot laughs, "You suck, Atag".

The fact that these two green men were alive was indeed a rare oddity.  
Barsoomians show no signs of age until they have nearly reached the end of their lifespans which can exceed 1000 years if they avoid assassination or death by combat. Green men despised weakness and once a man showed the deleterious effects of age they would by tradition be killed or encouraged to take the journey on the river Iss.  
Nag Lot and Atag both felt that they owed Bal Sag a debt.  
We would call it a debt of gratitude but to the green men it was simply a debt.  
Bal Sag had intervened when they were about to be evicted and convinced their Jeddak that the continued survival of the tribe depended on the knowledge and wisdom that these two men could impart to the younger men of the tribe.  
The two old men argued incessently and if asked would tell you that they hated and wished to kill the other, but yet both would proudly display the scars they had obtained when they had saved the life of the other.

Nag Lot continues, "I am the end result of millenia of careful breeding that has resulted in a green man of unsurpassable ferocity and undeniable superiority. An ill-advised, ill-begotten egg that hatched a substandard result is what you are, weak, tepid, unworthy. Stealing female hatchlings from inferior tribes was an execrable decision of desperation. Extinction is preferable to tolerating you diluted half breeds. When the time comes I will pledge my metal to Xrodis Turg, he will purge our tribe of you and your ilk's contamination, honor our ancient traditions and lead our resurgence back to primacy."

Atag bristles then counters, "Unsurpassable ferocity, yes, but the warhoons single minded breeding programs has led to unintended consequence. You are the end result of millenia of dementia and inbreeding that has resulted in a green man of undeniable stupidity. A maladriot fool who returned from a warhoon camp minus one hand and minus all dignity. Dak Kova is eager, I encourage you to add your other 3 hands and your head to his breastplate. When the time comes I will pledge my metal to Bal Sag."

On mention of Bal Sag, a youth who was tending a minor wound on his calot looks up. A lone survivor of a warhoon raid that had wiped out his hatch mates whose natural inquisitiveness had been stifled early on by the brooding menace and harshness of his adult tribe mates. He spent restless days and nights exploring his surroundings and when alone he would converse with his calot. On one expedition Bal Sag had saved him from being torn limb from limb by a white ape. Afterwards Bal Sag became a hero figure to him and he emulated him in many ways, especially choice of weapons. 4 holstered pistols hung from his harness at his sides, a bandalier across his chest, 2 sheathed long swords crossed each other on his upper back and a short sword and dagger were sheathed on his lower back. Only one other Wartard besides Bal Sag and the youth wore their weapons thus, the dark one, Xipeuh Toteux. He minded his step when he was in the presence of the dark one, knew to keep a respectful tongue, but unlike some, could hold his ground when the dark one approached him.

One night lit by bonfires and the light of Barsoom's moons as they crossed the night sky he had watched Xipeuh Toteux's performance art. The crowd hooted and hollered and laughed with wild abandon but the youth, barely hatched, did not comprehend such ancient evil. Instead, he intently studied someone who possessed qualities that intrigued his young mind. Bal Sag who only stayed as long as circumstance required, did not hoot, holler, or laugh, but for the most part seemingly projected an air of casual indifference.

Nag Lot becomes indignant then responds, "I almost succeeded, and would have had not my old ears betrayed me. Dak Kova crept up on me unawares. With my superlative powers of persuasion I convinced the female that her pure blood would give her status within our tribe. She was eager and willing."

Atag Braknar laughs, "Superlative powers of persuasion, ha ha ha, was it shouts of joy that woke up the entire warhoon camp. Remember I was there, watching from a ridge, only so I could watch you die. I watched a s##t faced spaced out numskull pause in his flight and stoke a watch fire for a wartard branding iron. I watched Dak Kova slash off the hand that held the iron. The female was eager and willing. I grant you eager and willing to escape your drunken clutches. Hahahahahah.

Nag Lot sulks, no matter what the argument, Atag Braknar always twisted it towards his recent failure. Not satisfied with the way the argument was proceeding Nag Lot turns his spite on the youth.

Nag Lot with all the bitterness and jealously of an old man who resents youth, spits out, "You are not a man, you have not earned the right to be here. You are not even a half breed, only a quarter."

The youth was a lone survivor of a warhoon raid that had wiped out his hatch mates. With no other hatchlings to beat, Nag Lot in his efforts to educate had beaten the recalcitrant youth many times.

The youth springs to his feet, sick of Nag Lot's abuse, his voice quavers with resentment, "It is you who should not be here, an affliction, a decrepit doddering demented fool to dimwitted to realize that he has long outlived his usefulness. Soon with kicks and blows you will be encouraged to take the journey on the river Iss and I shall participate.

Nag Lot scowls, his hand reaches for the whip coiled on the side of his thoat. The youth rests his hands on the pommels of his pistols. Nag Lot no longer scowls, his eyes widen in alarm, his hand retreats from the whip, he screeches out,  
"We got a war to win, I will deal with your impudence later."

Atag Braknar clutches his sides, doubled over, he laughs to the youth, "I encourage you to become an omad, everytime I hear your name I shall roar with laughter. A name taken from a nitwitted cretin with pessimal powers of persuasion.

Nag Lot sputters, "What did I do, to be tag teamed like this"

Atag Braknar wheezes for breath.  
The youth resumes tending his calot, often he looks up glaring at Nag Lot thru squinted eyes.  
Nag Lot retreats a little and lapses into silence.

Suddenly far below them rifle shots crack in the impending dawn. A large bloc of Zodangan cavalry screened by a destroyer escort engage thousands of green men who had joined Bal Sag's men on the lower slopes of the mountain. The lower slopes provided a strong defensive position for the green men. The slopes rose nearly 1000 sofads before meeting a sheer obsidian cliff that towered an additional 2000 sofads behind them.

Nag Lot speaks, "Helium and Zodanga have been at war for ages, no way Zodanga will break off from the investment of Helium to pursue green men".  
Atag responds, "Red men are weak idealistic sentimental creatures, when they open Xipeuh's box emotions will overcome reason. It's already begun. I wager before 2 zodes have passed 100,000 zodangans will leave the security of their trenches and breastworks and fall into Bal Sag's trap."  
Nag Lot laughs, "Preposterous, I accept your wager."

Suddenly the dawn breaks and Bal Sag who was was higher up on the ridge joins them. From their places of concealment they observe the beleaguered city of Helium. A defensive network of zodangan trenches and breastworks surrounds Helium. High overhead Zodangan battleships drop bombs, mostly concentrated on the mighty docks that service Helium's navy. A ship carrying a heavy payload drops it's bombs on one of Helium's most ancient docks. Weakened from repeated bombings and the fires raging within, the 1000 foot tall edifice collapses burying the ships and men that are harbored within. In a futile effort to protect what is left of Helium's docks, hidden cannons fire up at the ships circling above. Revealed by their muzzle flashes the cannons become targets. Zodangan two man fliers dive at steep angles then release their bombs silencing the cannons.

Booming explosions rise to a crescendo. Helium's outer defences are smashed. A colossal explosion brings Helium's gates crashing down.  
Zodanga's troops mobilize for the impending assault.

Thru a field glass Bal Sag observes the Heliumites engaged with the zodangan ships that fly above. Warrior and citizen alike fire from windows, rooftops and rubble filled streets, then flee to other hidden positions before the ships above can retaliate. Heliumites fight the fires raging throughout the city and dart thru the rubble risking their lives to save those about them.

Bal Sag (Clint Eastwood's voice) "Boy, tell Tars ... Helium still has some fight left in it."

Bal Sag lights a cigar, mounts his thoat, then heads down the steep trail towards the green men engaged in gun battle below him.  
As he descends, 2 Zodangan battleships and two full umaks of cavalry break off from the impending assault on Helium's shattered gates and reinforce the units already engaged with the green men. Cannons that had been hidden and silent, manned by hastily trained tharks flash and boom driving back the zodangan ships before they can crest the mountain and see what lies in store behind it.

Angrily the youth mounts his thoat and heads down the trail in the opposite direction Bal Sag took, towards Tars Tarkus and the 90,000 green men that lay concealed from the view of the zodangans, behind the ridge that slopes away from the mountain. He would deliver Bal Sag's messages to Tars Tarkus but was dismayed that afterwards he was to return up the ridge and spend the course of the battle being a message bearer for two old doddering fools.

Chapter 4

From the deck of Zodanga's command battleship officers watch thru field glasses as the green men repel Zodanga's latest thrust towards them. Excitement courses thru the gathered officers when the Wartard flags and the personnal flag of Xipeuh Toteux unfurl in the center of the green men's position. Officers fueled with rage over the incident of Xipueh's box urge their Jedwar Zat Arras to launch a full assault. Zat Arras hesitates, he fears his jeddak's wrath if he does not avenge the death of the jeddak's sister Rana Kovah but he does not want to split his forces. It seemed impossible but could the green men be in collusion with Helium. He feared a trap. He needed scouting reports.

From beyond the mountain a 10 man zodangan flier weaves erratically dodging green men fire. It gets battered but escapes then flies swiftly towards the zodandan fleet. As it docks to the command ship Zat Arras recognizes Kantos Kan, a personal guard of Than Kosis.  
(Kantos Kan was a padwar in Helium's navy, he had infiltrated Zodanga in search of Dejah Thoris and by the prowess of his sword had won a place in the retinue of Than Kosis. All the men on the 10 man flier were of Helium, disguised in the metal of Zodanga. To add to the deception the green men had fired on the flier when it flew over them but were careful not to damage anything vital.) Officers barrage Kantos Kan with questions, he raises his voice and reports, "The backside of the mountain and the plains behind are barren of life as far as the eye can see. I estimate at least 10,000 green men cover the slopes before us. Wartards, Tharks and close to his flag I saw that dark devil, Xipueh Toteux himself!

Zat Arras still hesitates but then an officer pointing downward exclaims, "Javis Kandar does not wait."  
With milatary precision and Javis Kandar in the forefront, 10 infantry umaks flanked by 2 cavalry umaks detach from zodanga's main host and start advancing towards the green men and the mountain.

Zat Arras thinks, "Calot nads! he will take all the credit." Deciding this was an opportune time to show his executive presence he leaps onto the deck railing, faces his officers, flourishes his sword, and in his most commanding voice exclaims, "Before the sun sets Zodanga's most powerful enemies will be vanquished, Wartards, then Helium!"

Officers cheer, inspired by the awesome speech and executive presence of Zat Arras. Orders are issued, 30% of Zodanga's fleet turn towards the mountain while others continue their bombardment of the city.

Chapter 5

Cannon fire belches from the prow guns of Zodanga's rapidly advancing detachment. The sheer cliffs above the green men entrenched on the mountain's lower slopes echo and reverberate with the sound of gunfire and explosions. One battleship commander thinking it might be more effective to bring the mountain down on the green men orders his forward cannons to fire directly at the cliff face. Massive chunks of obsidian and rock shower down on the green men below them. Many green men retreat into abandoned mining tunnels and ancient lava tubes that dot the mountain's lower slopes while others fearing collapse take their chances on the surface.

The exhilaration of the zodangans is short lived, it turns to astonishment when suddenly battleships flying the colors of Helium crest the mountain.

Krajak Salvan, the commanding odwar of the ships that flew over the ground detachment force was seasoned, a grizzled veteran of many a campaign, one of a few good officers who remained after the paranoid purges that ensued when Than Kosis had achieved power. Orders are relayed, his ships quickly wheel in the sky and present their broadsides towards the Helium fleet that is quickly bearing down upon them.

Suddenly wave after wave of green men on thoat back crest the lower ridge that extends out from the mountain then charge recklessly down the slope. Along the base of the mountain with savage yells green men pour out of the mine tunnels and ancient lava tubes and descend, anxious to come to grips with their hated foes. Around the far side of the mountain a massive column of more green men charge with lances lowered. Outriders on both sides spread out to flank and cut off the Zodangan's expected retreat.

Zodangan broadsides tear into the lead elements of the Heliumite fleet. Twisted hunks of burning metal and cauterized chunks of sailers shower the battlefield below when a leading Heliumite battleship passing between the Zodangan ships erupts into incandescence. The first wave of Heliumite ships intersect the Zodangan ships and drop bombs on Javis Kandar and his men below while a second wave wheels in the sky in front of the zodangan ships and present their broadsides. The first wave passes thru, spreads out and then quickly the zodangan ships are caught in a crossfire.

Krajak Salvan preferred retreat but he felt it was his duty to protect as much as possible the men who were fighting for their lives on the ground below him. As fliers were dispatched to appraise Zat Arras of his grave position, Krajak Salvan remained calm and reminded his gunners of the weaknesses that Javis Kandar's stolen schematics had exposed. Heliumite ships with screaming crews aboard plunge downward onto the battlefield raging below, the victims of carefully concentrated salvos that punch thru the weakest parts of their hulls and blow apart the bouyancy tanks that are needed to keep them airborne.

Scarcely had the bombs dropped on Javis Kandar's men when the green hordes smite full upon them.  
An avalanche of lances backed by charging thoats and green muscle rip and shred the Zodangan ranks to pieces.  
The impetus of the charge is barely halted as squealing thoats, as vicious and deadly as the green men that ride them, bite and trample all before them. Flanked, cut off, compressed, the battle turns into a massacre, no quarter is expected or given.

Only a few thousand escaped, Javis Kandar among them. He crapped his trappings when he had seen the lowered lances and savage faces of the green horde bearing down upon him. Craven at heart he had turned and fled, in his eagerness to escape his thoat had treaded on and battered aside his own men. They died cursing his name as he barely escaped the bloodbath and the outriders that had flanked his umak's positions.

Krajak Salvan fought till the bitter end. Ringed by his opponents and refusing calls for surrender, simultaneous salvos detonate and rip his ship apart. The burning fragments of his dead ship impacts on a hill of zodangan corpses. The last few men alive on that corpse hill are mercilessly gunned down by the laughing green men that circle below.

Chapter 6

Nag Lot looks glumly on as Atag cackling with glee scoops his winnings out of the gamble bowl.

Chapter 7

Found at the scene of Rana Kovah's abduction was a key. A key deliberatly left, a cruel joke of the dark one, doubtless it's intent to inflict psychological torment on Rana Kovah's would be rescuers. A key to a prison it was assumed. Zodanga searched and anxiously awaited for a ransom demand that was not forthcoming. A long barsoomian year passes and men assume the worst. Wracked with guilt and a forboding fear Kronak Naktar refused to abandon hope. Relentlessly Kronak Naktar, his ship and his men scoured the no mans land were the wartards were reputed to rove in. Suspect word of Rana Kovah's condition, false leads and outdated information rewarded their efforts. No rescue and little reprisal. Abandoned camps secreted in rough terrain were discovered, a hatchery had been despoiled, but always it seemed the wily wartards and the dark one were out of reach.

Tears are wiped off a portrait of Rana Kovah by hands that no longer tremble. The look of intolerable sadness on Kronak Naktar's face is slowly replaced with a burning wrath and calculating determination.

He looks at the faces of the officers anxiously gathered around him then orders, "We can't win a battle down here, to the deck." An officer eagerly retrieves Kronak Naktar's weapons as other officers appraise him of current conditions.

Followed by his officers he goes on deck and witnesses Zat Arras having a apopletic rage fit meltdown due to the destruction of Javis Kandar's and Krajak Salvan's detachment force. Zat Arras spittle sprays his officers as he screams out orders that are far to late to save the detachment that has suffered it's final death throes. Orders that would have flung zodangan ground and air units at the massed Helium navy and the green horde in a futile piecemeal fashion.

Helium was a big city that covered many square miles, the Zodangan forces that surrounded it were flung far and wide to encircle it and many of Zodanga's ships were spread out on bombing runs. Kronak Naktar issues orders countermanding the orders of his superior Zat Arras.

Zat Arras turns on Kronak Naktar and is overcome with a paroxysm of hysteria. He gets up in Kronak Naktar's face and screams threats and imprecations. Zat Arras was a large man. He towered over Kronak Naktar his hand clenched on his rapier hilt but Kronak Naktar does not flinch.

Kronak Naktar speaks, "You are unfit for command, I hereby relieve you of duty".

Medical officers emboldened by Kronak Naktar back his statement up.  
Zat Arras looks wildly about him, the hardening resolute countenances of the officers not missed. His hysteria lapses into a stunned catatonic stupor as officers hustle him off the deck.

Kronak Naktar notices a than without command deck authorization standing near the table were the Helium war vessel schematics are laid out. His metal designates him as a personal guard of Than Kosis. Kronak Naktar orders him removed from the deck.

"We can still win this, I have confidence in our air fleet and it's odwars, but we can not afford to underestimate those green devils.  
I shall resume command of our ground forces, Gatok Taztok shall command the air fleet."

Orders are issued and Zodanga concentrates it's forces opposite it's rapidly approaching enemies.

Kronak Naktar realizes the box was meant to provoke an insane rage (not attempted suicide) within him. He speculates on what motivated his replacement to ride forth leading 12 umaks to destruction. Was it glory, fortune, or vengence that motivated Javis Kandar to fall into the trap set for Kronak Naktar, or was there something more ?

Chapter 8 - A hardbitten dwar

Outside a small tent men drink then brag and boast about the fortunes they will acquire when they present soon to be decapitated wartard heads to Zodanga's Jeddak Than Kosis.

Inside the tent a man kneels and prays. Placed in front of him, flickering votive candles cast light on a small figurine.  
Like most barsoomians he paid homage to Issus but he was also a member of a small cadre of zodangan officers that secretly worshipped a forgotten god. Reverently he caresses the figurine, an idol crafted with exquisite detail and painstakenly copied from a statue that had survived over a million years in one of Barsoom's most ancient dead cities. The idol was a representation of an ancient god, the god of war. The god was of the white race, lean, muscular and dressed in the armor of the ancients. Steel cold gray eyes peered out of his helmet eye slits. A smile is on his lips. A grim terrible smile. In one hand a short thick spear, in the other a rectangular crimson shield. Upon the shield a stylized two headed bird of prey clutches lightning bolts. Sheathed at his side is a short thick sword that tapers to a sharp point. How much blood had that sword drank, how much blood, the man muses. If asked he would tell you he was a simple man with simple desires and his prayer reflected simplicity. "I beseech fortune in battle, if not then grant that my spirit's path to the underworld is broad, straight and well lit." A simple man with few belongings, a hard man who lived a hard life.

A man pokes his head into the tent. "Dwar, we have a recruit who wishes to join our ranks."

With a kick in the back Javis Kandar lands at the feet of one of Zodanga's most ill-famed dwars.  
He had a reputation for stomping ass and being hard on the men under his command. He had to be hard.  
His men were a rough lot consisting mostly of condemned criminals who prefered service to the mines or former panthans serving the compulsory time necessary to acquire citizenship. They had a reputation for being ruthless men who went about no good deeds in Zodanga's seamier districts. It was also reputed that even Zodanga's most notorious assassin guilds thought it was prudent to give a wide berth to this group of crazed drunken dope addled killers.

The hardbitten dwar lifts up Javis Kandar, gives him a shake, then roughly throws the harness of a commen than at him. His utan laughes as the dwar sneers then reads an order, "Javis Kandar showing cowardice and abandoning his men on the field of battle, is hereby deemed unfit, and is therefore relieved of all rank and entitlement befitting an officer of Zodanga. It is ordered that Javis Kandar be allowed the opportunity to expunge some of his guilt serving Zodanga as a commen than on the front line facing our enemies. Issus be merciful. Signed, Acting Supreme Jedwar, Kronak Naktar."

A spear is shoved into the nervous hands of Javis Kandar. The dwar's dagger prods him and the utan parts and he is thrust to the forefront of the battle lines. Javis Kandar's eye widen, the breastwork and ditch that seperates him from the lowered lances of the charging green men seems woefully inadequate. He did not know who he feared more, the green men or the hardbitten dwar who breathed in his ear promises of agonizing death if he so much as took one step backwards.

Chapter 9 -Battle for Helium, the air above

A maelstrom of death and destruction erupts in the skies above Helium. Massed wedges of Heliumite navy withstand the concentrated firepower that is unleashed against it. Gargantuan explosions fill the sky as some of the lead ships are blown out of the sky but the wedges rush forward and penetrate the wall of Zodangan ships that confront it. Admidst the capital ships thousands of small fliers dart thru the air adding to the chaos. The earsplitting sounds of intended and unintended mid air collisions intersperce the constant thunderous detonations of cannon fire. Heliumite ships suffering from well aimed shots that damage their bouyancy tanks deliberatly crash into and grapple onto their enemies. Mass growing congregates of ships grapple together in the skies with crews locked together in desperate death struggles.

The wreakage of the titantic conflict rains down on the battlefield raging below crushing combatants. Flaming debris showers down and litters the field of strife creating raging infernos of hellish destruction. The stench of burning flesh permeates the air as towering green monsters run amok among the red men that oppose them.

Chapter 10 - Battle for Helium, the ground below

Bombs drop blowing apart the breastworks that protect the Zodangan perimeter. Green men charge into the ragged gaps, bloodcurdling screams rend the air, bombshocked red men die violently as steel shod lances rip thru their bodies and into the men behind them. Lances with three, four, and five red men transfixed upon them are left behind, some with gut pierced red men that writhe in incredible agony. Charging thoats knock red men flying into the air with rib cages caved in. Filled with bloodlust their savage riders ululate. Red men respond with screams of terror.

Chapter 11 - Battle for Helium, a hardbitten dwar

The hardbitten dwar and Javis Kandar survive the initial thrust. Bombs detonate all around his utan, tossing shrapnel filled corpses thru the air, but the breastworks in front of them remains intact. Thoats leap across the ditch then impale themselves on the sharpened stakes of the breastworks. A lance narrowly misses the face of Javis Kandar, clips the ear of the hardbitten dwar, and then punctures the face of a man behind them. Javis Kandar blindly thrusts out his spear, past snapping jaws and into the throat muscles of the thoat before him. The thoat rider's head explodes struck by a projectile from the dwar's pistol.

Green men clamber over the breastworks and leap into the ranks of the dwar's utan. They fight individually, slashing at the red men who grudgingly give ground before them. A green man's sword lodges in a rib cage, red men retaliate, gouts of blood spurt as vengeful spears thrust in and out of his torso. Men fighting in packs yell and curse as they hack the life out of green men seperated from the horde that swarms over the breastworks. As the dwar and his utan are relentlessly pushed back, green men dismount then dismantle sections of the breastworks. The breastworks fall over and a horde of green men on thoatback now unimpeded swarm thru. Desperately the dwar, with shouts, curses, and shoves, orders his men to retreat to a secondary row of earthen bulwarks that protect the zodangan perimeter. Red swordsmen die in droves around them but the spears of the dwar's utan fend off the encroaching green men. Battered and bloodied, the survivors reach the bulwark and a single ladder is lowered to aid their escape.

A jeddak of the green men marshalls his forces for a renewed charge that pushes back the staggering Zodangan ranks.  
The charge catches the dwar and his utan before they can take advantage of the ladder.

The dwar watches zodangans disappear under the flailing feet of the thoats that charge towards the bulwark and his position. His men plant the butt ends of their spears into the ground and the bulwark they are backed up against to recieve the charge that will most likely kill all of them. Cannon grape shot and a volley of rifle fire from atop the bulwark rip into the green men ranks. Bullet riddled corpses disrupts those charging behind them. Thoats stumble and trip on grape shot mangled bodies tossing their riders to the feet of the dwar and his utan. Before they can rise they are trampled down by the thoats that impale themselves on the spears of the dwar's utan. Frantic men atop the bulwark reload their rifles and fire at the horde of green men that press in on the dwar and the spearmen below them.

The dwar thinks, "We are F'd in the A", but then a great shadow covers the battlefield. The dwar risks a look upward. With sickening thuds Heliumite and Zodangan airmen (many on fire) fall like rain onto the battlefield. A dozen battleships grappled together, bouyancy tanks blown apart, plummet downward and exploding on contact with the ground, crushes and burns the entire vanguard of green men arrayed against him and his section of the battlefield.

The dwar screams at his men to duck and forcefully drags a few of his men to the ground with him.  
A giant twisted hunk of flaming metal ricochets on the ground decapitating and mangling all in it's path including a couple of the dwar's men who did not heed or hear his warning. It's passes over the dwar's head and smashes the bulwark and rolls over the top of it. Waves of heat wash over the men and smoke chokes their lungs. Surrounded by death and flames the exhausted men rise and gasp as they behold a spectacle of holocaust proportions.

Their respite is shortlived when a lone green man leaps off the flaming bulwark above them and lands in their midst.  
The dwar marks the man's metal then exclaims, "A jeddak, the jeddak of the tharks, don't let him escape men".  
With lusty yells and the clangor of weapons his men respond, they curse and die, their spears and swords unable to pierce the jeddak's formidable guard. The jeddak backs up to put his back to the bulwark so men can not come up behind him, then trip and falls over a dead body.

As the dwar leaps forward his rapier lifted high a one man flier crash lands and crushes a couple of his men. His sword descends but another sword flashes upward, held by the pilot of the one man flier, and deflects the blow that was intended for the fallen Jeddak's head. The pilot's sword flashes again and the dwar falls, still alive but for an instant stunned, his riven helmet filling with blood. He rises and watches a corpse pile grow at the feet of the jeddak and the pilot. With astonishment he realizes the pilot is a white man. With prodigious leaps and bounds and unparalleled swordsmenship the white man cuts down all before him. The dwar orders his men to pull back. Sides heaving for breath and dismayed they readily comply. In awe he ask the white man "Who are you ?" The white man stares at the dwar with steel cold grey eyes. A smile is on his lips. A grim terrible smile. The white man replies, "John Carter of Virgina". Before the astonished gaze of the Zodangans and before they can react he grabs Tars Tarkus and leaps in the air, over the flaming wreakage and disappears from their sight.

The dwar orders his men up the ladder, Javis Kandar still among them, when suddenly once again the white man lands in their midst. With a stupendous leap he flies over the heads of the amazed men below him. He lands on the flier he had crash landed earlier then he engages the engine and opens the throttle. A blood spattering nose breaking kick dislodges the dwar who attempts to drag the flier down as it lifts off the ground. Stunned, with the breath knocked out of him, he watches the flier vanish in the smoke, it's nose pointed toward a mass congregate of ships that float in the sky high above.

The dwar recovers, grunts when a man resets his nose, then leads his men up the ladder. Cuts he had recieved will turn into scars. Scars that he will one day wear with pride, because he had recieved them from the mightiest swordsman on two planets, John Carter.

They pick their way thru burning debris that litters the other side of the bulwark and thru the smoke descry Zodangan battle zitadars. These monsters were equipped with massive life crushing jaws and a tail with numerous barbs evolved to protect them from the predatory packs of banths that inhabit their geographic location on the planet. Metal armor plates stitched together with toughened leather augments the thick scaled skin that protects these massive behemoths. Zodangans man cannons that are strapped on top of the beasts. They had been trained for war since hatching and unlike their wild cousins were less prone to panic when faced with fire and flame, and for the most part remained controllable when confronted with the rigors of combat.

The hardbitten dwar wanting a better view of conditions, picks his way thru the barbs and runs up the tail of a zitadar. Unbidden Javis Kandar follows. The dwar reacts with a look of surprise when he reaches the top and recognizes Kronak Naktar, acting supreme Jedwar. Javis Kandar reacts with a look of implacable hatred. Pilots of one man fliers whose duty it is to keep their Jedwar appraised of battlefield conditions and relay orders hover above them. With barely a glance at his enemy Kronak Naktar orders men to return Javis Kandar to the front.

Javis Kandar is hustled away but the dwar remains and with Kronak Naktar by his side they assess their surroundings. Flaming wreakage prohibits the advance of the green men on the front, the left flank is secure, but something of import seems to be happening on the right. Kronak Naktar looks thru his fieldglass with concern, impatiently waiting to recieve information from a one man flier pilot that rapidly approaches from that direction. The overwrought pilot streaks in then narrowly avoids collision with the zitadar and the men on top of it. He cries out, "Wartards! They waste all in their path! Terrified men drop their weapons and flee! Doom is upon us!"

An officer with a fieldglass trained on Helium's shattered gates cries out, "Helium issues forth. Zitadars push ramps before them." Kronak Naktar, the dwar, and officers turn. They look on in consternation as ramps drop, bridging trenches and crushing breastworks along with the zodangans that shelter behind them. A Heliumite battleship suddenly appears thru the smoke above the gate. Majestically and gracefully the massive juggernaut of death and destruction turns presenting her broadside. With a massive roar a salvo rains annihilation upon the zodangans below.

Kronak hurriedly writes a order commanding air units to seek out and engage the Heliumite battleship that threatens to wipe out the forces arrayed before the gates of Helium. He splits his Zodangan battle zitadar force in half. Half to confront the wartards that threaten to rout his right flank, half to contain the Heliumites that pour out of Helium's shattered gates.

A weaponless than, who in a fit of hysteria had removed his trappings so he could flee faster, runs towards them. An officer catches him.  
The deranged than, convulsed with fear, screams out, "Wartards! We are F'd in the A!"

Chapter 12 - Battle for Helium, Wartard mayhem

Flame, smoke and screaming crews marked the descent of a mass congregate of ships grappled together, obliterating the Thark vanguard. A raging inferno of flame, a funeral pyre for victor and vanquished. Tharks mill in confusion, dismayed at the loss of their vanguard and percieved loss of their jeddak. A temporary reprieve for the Zodangans but now they have new troubles. Helium issues forth from it's shattered gates. Wartards and the wild allies of the Tharks menace their right flank.

(more involved then hard bitten dwar chapter - how will I piece this chapter of carnage together - hmmmm)

A crushed carpet of dead and dying red men marks the relentless advance of the Wartards and the green hordes that surge around them. Individual green men seeking an end to their hate filled lives hack and slash into the ranks of the red men far ahead of there brethren. Ripped and torn apart corpses are strewn in their wake, chaos ensues in the ranks of the red men and officers struggle to maintain disipline. Violence coalesces around these death seekers. Desperate lunges of swordsman, thrusting spears, stabs in the back, hamstringing blows and exploding gun shots grant them their ends.

The main mass pushes forward trampling the dead and the living to death.

A wartard overcome with bloodlust, breaks ranks and cuts his way deep into the lines of the red men that confront him. A swirling mosh pit of mania and violence vortexes around the wartard and his calot. Screaming men thrust spears into the calot. A sword bites deep into the neck of the wartard, his head hangs by a thread. The need to kill is engrained deep into the phyche of the wartard, his nervous system continues to fight even thou he is dead. Two zodangans are slashed by the wild swinging blows of the dead wartard before his body trips and falls. In a frenzy of fear and horrified loathing red med stab and hack on the wartard's fallen body long after it stops twitching.

Xrodis Turg. Pure warhoon blood.

Millenia of evolution enhanced by Warhoon breeding programs had produced Xrodis Turg.  
The prototype Warhoon warrior. Alpha male and jeddak material.  
He was twice as massive as the average green man and weighed in at 800 pounds.  
800 pounds of massive thews attached to a wide frame that towered over all around him.  
800 pounds of rage unleashed on red men who had just killed his hatch mate and drinking buddy.

Held in his upper hands was a massive bardiche. A 6 sofad long chunk of sharpened steel that extended half its distance past the long pole it was attached to.

Xrodis Turg grunts with rage and bloodlust, his bardiche swings, backed by 800 pounds, it rips and severs the heads off of three rows of zodangans packed before him. Blood gushes and spurts from the severed arteries of twenty necks.  
Another grunt, another swing, blood fountains from twenty more necks. Xrodis Turg harvests the red men before him. Each swing shears thru bone and flesh. No red man could parry or deflect the devastating swings of the massive bardiche that easily sheared multiple men in half.

Desperate men duck under the bardiche only to be stabbed by the rapiers held in Xrodis Turg's lower hands.  
With brutal stomps Xrodis Turg ruptures the stomachs and fractures the rib cages of red men who fall to the ground.  
Men who evade Xrodis Turg are quickly dispatched by his calot.

Xipueh Toteux - the dark one

With prodigeous leaps and bounds and unparalleled swordsmanship he cuts down all before him.  
Almost to fast for the human eye to follow a white shape of terror flits about him, rending and tearing, the dark one's albino calot.

Pulsing blasts of telepathic horror lances into the consciousnesses of the zodangans before him.  
Overcome with terror men drop their weapons and flee. The dark one laughs, an insane laugh, as he runs down and mercilessly drives his swords into the backs of men to terrified to defend themselves.  
More blasts of telepathic fear follow, inchoate images of alien cosmic filth overwhelms the senses.  
Whole lines of rifleman fire their rifles harmlessly over the heads of the wartards.  
Overwhelmed by the dark one's psychic assault they fire at the abominations of shadowy nightmare horror that are projected into their minds.  
Red men are powerless and unable to resist ancient abhorrent alien evil.  
Malevolent lancinations of hate. Relentless assaults of berserk chaos. Ghastly apparitions of dread revulsion.  
They run blinded by potent fear.

A hero of zodanga desperately tries to rally the men.  
Ancient alien evil steeped in blasphemous wisdom concentrates on the hero of zodanga and seizes control of his cerebral cortex.  
With jerky motions like a automation the hero turns and cuts down his own men. Xipueh Toteux laughs, a laugh even more evil and diabolical then previous laughs.  
With a evil diabolical laugh the dark one reaches out with unimaginable psychic power and invades the mind of a zodangan officer.  
With jerky motions like a automation the officer turns and cuts down his own men.  
The dark one concentrates and telepathically seizes the brains of ten more officers.  
Horrifed by their own officers turning on them, nightmares shapes of horror that flit about them, and the psychic pulses of fear that radiates from the dark one, terrified men turn and flee.  
In a frenzy of terror men flee, men trip and fall never to rise, trampled to death by their own fleeing men.

No history wartard or warhoon spoke of such power for not in a eon had the dark one unleashed such power.

Bal Sag catches up to the dark one.

Covered with stigmata and gore, flush with malovelent power, the dark one pauses on a mound of corpses, his albino calot at his side.  
Diabolic evil laughter courses thru the air as he watches the zodangans flee before him pursued by nightmare images of horror.  
A nearby zodangan feigning death is discovered. Jerkily he rises and approaches. With full knowledge of his fate but powerless to resist he throws himself on the dark one's outreached blade.  
The dark one kicks loose the gut pierced zodangan who falls at his feet writhing in pain.

Flush with power, peels of evil laughter fill the air as the dark one turns toward Bal Sag and the wartards who catch up to him.  
Bal Sag stares into eyes that are flush with power and madness. Inchoate patternless chaos, death, abhorrent images of cosmic filth threaten the limits of Bal Sag's sanity.

Sensory perceptions are exposed to that which no currently living barsoomian had experienced in a million years.  
Thru elder eyes Bal Sag experiences Barsoom's ancient oceans. He heard the sounds of waves crashing on beaches. He felt the deck of a wooden ship beneath his feet. Birds winged thru oxygen rich air dense with moisture. Shoreline and  
water teemed with life.

Beyond Barsoom's oceans lies a black chasm of infinity populated by nightmare shapes of elder horror.  
Time distorts and becomes twisted beyond mortal computation.  
Alien thought processes not comprehensible to mortal sensory perception masks the dark one's origin.

If Xipeuh Toteux was aware of Bal Sag's intrusion he gave no indication.  
Troubled by what he percieved Bal Sag withdraws.  
After images of intangible alien thought processes continue to impinge on Bal Sag's consciouseness as time and space resumes it's normal course as mortal men recognize it.

Chapter 13 - Two old men

Chapter 14 - Wartards vs Zodangan battle zitadars

Chapter 15 - Aftermath

In front of Helium's shattered gates Bal Sag gathers what is left of his men. Before him men with shattered bones and pierced bloody torsos grovel in agony on makeshift stretchers. Tourniquets staunch the blood flow of missing limbs. Xipueh Toteux stands over them, medical instruments on a makeshift table, and asks who wants to live.

Men not wanting to endure the stigma of living a crippled life that is a burden to the tribe, signal death.  
They exhale their last breaths, with smiles on their lips, as the medicants of Xipueh Totuex send them into everlasting oblivian.

Atag Braknar with a mischievous grin points at Nag Lot. With a thumb he makes a slashing motion across his neck.  
A drop from a death laden syringe drips on Nag Lot prostrate with fatigue. Nag Lot rolls over, bleats, scrambles out from underneath Xipueh Toteux who stoops over him, then squeals out, "I can still ride!"  
Men roar with laughter as Nag Lot struggles to mount a thoat with a disagreeable disposition. Atag Braknar loudest among them.

A haggard looking mounted greenman gallops towards them. A wartard but not one of Bal Sag's men. The thoat's sides heave with exhaustion as it halts. Long and hard the man had rode seeking Bal Sag and his men and he bore terrible tidings. He reaches into his saddle pack, the metal of the jeddak of the wartards lands before the feet of Bal Sag and the men that surround him.

"Betrayed", the rider cries out, "We stand alone, our last settlement has been wasted, all dead, our jeddak, our men, our women, our hatchlings."

The men are stunned, Bal Sag's cigar falls out of the corner of his mouth.  
Nag Lot, who was mounted, prods his thoat forward, seizes the rider and angrily demands, "Who did this, who is to blame"  
The wartard warrior reaches into his saddlepack a second time, on top of the metal of the jeddak lands another metal, a metal that bears the mark of a noble house of Zodanga.

Chapter 16 - Payback

In front of Helium's shattered gates Heliumites and Tharks encircle prisoners of war, what is left of Zodanga's officer core. Sporadic mobs of the thark's wild allies press up against the guards and demand that the prisoners be giving over for sport. They revile the cowed prisoners of war and menace them with their guns. A jeddak steps forth and demands that the prisoners be loaded into a transport, to be torn apart by white apes and banths for the amusement of his horde, in the great games held in their arena. The drawn weapons of his rowdy throng reflects from the fires feeding off the detritus of war. Evil chants fill the ears of the frightened zodangans. Bathed in the light of a ship searchlight Tars Tarkus speaks with the jeddak and diffuses the situation. The jeddak and his throng depart.

Stressed guards tighten their grips on their weapons as yet another group approaches.  
Stupified expressions cross the faces of the guards, particulary the Heliumites, overwhelmed by the Wartard's savage appearance and loathsome barbarity. Severed heads adorn spears, mummified body parts are stitched and stapled to their bodies. The Wartards, their mounts, their calots, and their weapons are clotted with blood and gore. Death stench overwhelms the Heliumites. A Zodangan craps his trappings and mumbles a prayer to Issus.

A single Wartard dismounts. Guards who had been resolute do nothing.

Long afterwards men would claim that a nimbus of evil radiating from the dark one paled all light plunging the prisoners of war into near total darkness. In hushed voices men would claim that no mortal man could bear to look long upon the dark one and retain his sanity. In frightened tones men whoud whisper of the abominable acts of violence and torture tattoed on the dark one's skin. How if a man could bear to look more then an instant, he whoud hear the screams of the victims tattooed on the dark one's skin as they writhed in intolerable torment.

Two men face each other.

Held in the hand of one is a metal. A metal that bears the mark of a noble house of Zodanga. Held in the hand of a man who had just recieved terrible tidings that his tribe had been exterminated. The man stares into the eyes of the zodangan.

Kronak Naktar stares back into the eyes of a man who had slaughtered thousands of his men. The man who had tortured and murdered his wife. Kronak Naktar stares into the eyes of a devil. A fraction of time incalculable occurs and Kronak Naktar's consciousness is enveloped in a infinite void and shrouded with absolute coldness. Blackness withdraws.

Xipueh Toteux speaks, "Javis Kandar betrayed you."

The dark one opens a sliver of his mind and the betrayal of Javis Kandar is revealed to all the men assembled.

Kronak Naktar turns upon Javis Kandar who is cowering behind his uncle Zat Arras. Kronak Naktar cries out, "It was your treachery that revealed the location of my wife to these monsters! It was you!"

Every man there felt the heartbreaking anguish and terrible rage of Kronak Naktar as he cried out those words, including green men. Shamefaced, zodangans, including his uncle Zat Arras seperate themselves as far as possible from the disgraced Javis Kandar. Mors Kajak who had been speaking to Tars Tarkus, extolling the virtues and nobility of the red race is mortified.

Javis Kandar cries out, "I was a captive, beguiled by the mind tricks of the dark one, forced to do his bidding. I admitted my cowardice once, you forgave me. Forgive me again Kronak Naktar, I swear I will  
do all that is within my power to make things right."

Xipueh Toteux speaks, "I dissected your consiousness, revealed within was your sin, your covetousness, your twisted ambition. Removing Rana Kovah and Kronak Naktar was just one step on your path of power. You were not a pawn. You were a willing accomplice. You were a conspirator."

Mors Kajak draws his rapier and presses it into the hand of Kronak Naktar.  
A rapier is thrown to the feet of Javis Kandar.

Javis Kandar does not pick up the rapier at his feet. He backpeddles away in fear as Kronak Naktar stalks forward.

Javis Kandar seeks egress from the men that encircle him, but none is given.

With a sneer on his lips, a hardbitten odwar, (formally a hardbitten dwar who had been promoted during the course of the battle), grabs Javis Kandar by the back of his neck and thrusts him towards the rapier that lays on the ground.

Kronak Naktar stalks forward, Javis Kandar does not pick up the rapier, instead he throws his arms up and yells, "C'mon now, we are related!"  
With the utmost precision, Kronak Naktar lunges forward, his rapier pierces the heart of Javis Kandar. The heart of a coward. The heart of a coward that dies a coward's death.

Bal Sag takes a puff off his cigar then quips to his men, "Never betray a deal with a barsoomian devil".

Xipueh Toteux withdraws. The metal carried in his hand falls to the ground. A metal that had traveled a great distance, carried by a wartard warrior who bore terrible tidings. The hardbitten odwar steps forward as the dark one departs to inspect the metal. He looks down upon a metal that bears the mark of a noble house of Zodanga. A metal that bears the mark of the house of Javis Kandar.

Chapter 17 traitors revealed

Riding a short distance the Wartards return to their wounded and the few men including Nag Lot that had stayed behind to watch over them. Looks of consternation cross their faces. When they had left, Nag Lot had three hands but know he only had two. His upper right arm ended in a stump at the wrist, but now a tourniquet suppressed the flow of blood from his lower left arm that ended in a stump just below the elbow. With the two hands he still possessed he had dug into Xipueh Toteux's medicant pouch that had been left behind.

Atag Braknar asks, "WTF happened"

Nag Lot hammered on painkiller mumbles, "Wartards, two presumed dead, I saw them, I followed them. They boarded a ship. On board men of Zodanga were donning the metal of Helium. They were fixing to lift off and attempt escape. Tak Hufgos and Pakur Ramkus betrayed us. It was those villians that revealed the location of our last settlement to Javis Kandar. I fought, that miscreant Tak Hufgos shot my calot. What a malodorous butthole! Pakur Ramkus hacked my arm off. What a execrable calot dropping! I fell. The mephitic cretins gloated. I prayed to Issus. I waited for the death stroke. I told both of them to F##K off."

Nag Lot pauses, he winces with pain, he points a stump at the medicant pouch, then slurs out, "More painkiller."

Painkiller is administered, with a stoned goofy look on his ugly face Nag Lot continues, "Zodangans at the flight controls die. Shot by the youth that rides with us. What markmanship! His calot rends the remaining zodangans. The youth can fight. What swordsmanship! He carved the life out of vile Tak Hufgos then disemboweled that despicable reprobate Pakur Ramkus. He saved my life. He is no longer a boy. He is a man. He saved my life."

Nag Lot lapses into silence, he sinks into the moss below him, a vacuous expression settles on his face.  
A look of concern flickers on the face of Bal Sag. He shakes Nag Lot and asks, "Were is he"  
Nag Lot points at the medicant pouch, then slurs out, "More painkiller."

Chapter 18 - will he or will he not

The hastily erected medic tent was overfilled with the dead, dying and wounded. Cries and groans filled the air.  
A youth using his rifle as a crutch enters the tent.  
With each beat of his heart arterial blood spurts from a bone exposing cut on his leg.  
Sola rushes to his side and with the utmost compassion and thru her herioc efforts saves his life.  
Sola senses that despite his suffering the youth is determined to put on a brave face.  
His complexion had not yet darkened to the olive green of adulthood, but he was strong and tall.  
His tusks were thick and there gleaming whiteness was a indicator of perfect health and fitness.  
She starts to compliment him for being such a brave patient but then the compliment dies on her lips when she notices his tribal tatoo.

The youth notices that something is odd about the female thark's behavior. Incomprehensible. There eyes meet. He starts to speak but then his tribal members burst into the medical tent.

Bal Sag places his four hands on the youth's shoulders then with uncharacteristic enthusiasm exclaims "Today you entered this battle nameless, but now you are a man, I name you Tak Pakur!

A smile erupts on the face of the now named Tak Pakur. He grabs his rifle/crutch and shrugging off aid rises to his feet.  
He pumps his fists then chest bumps his tribe members. Hobbling outside he has cause for further excitement.  
The two traitors he had killed had been dragged then dumped in front of the tent. Beside them were the ceremonial cleaver, an urn filled with mummification liquid and the ceremonial staple gun.

A tribe member high fives then hands the exstatic Tak Pakur the ceremonial cleaver.  
Thwock! A foot separates from a corpse.  
Laughing, a tribe member kicks the corpse aside, then stretches the leg of the other corpse across the chopping block.  
Thwock!  
Bal Sag himself dips the severed feet into the mummification liquid. An honor indeed.  
(Upon entering manhood they always staple the feet thou they may later swap them out)  
Tak Pakur holds a severed foot to his chest, he presses the staple gun against the foot, his finger poises on the trigger.  
Ever since he can remember he had dreamed about this moment.  
He sees the strange thark female framed in the tent doorway.  
Their eyes meet.  
He hesitates ….

Chapter 19 - Epiphany

Tak Pakur peers into the mind of Sola.  
It happened suddenly, without conscious effort, as if an unknown intrinsic quality had been attracted, then pulled within.  
Myriad emotions flood his consciousness; warmth, compassion, benevolence, humanity.  
He smiles awash in awe and wonderment.  
Unbidden something buried deep in the depths of his core responds and boils to the surface.  
Revelations cascade thru his mind as mental barriers are shunted aside.  
His true self is revealed.

A compulsion overwhelms him.  
A raging desire ignites and blazes within.

"No", a small voice says. Quizzical expressions cross the faces of the tribe.  
"No", the voice repeats, stronger, firmer this time. Looks of disbelief cross the faces of the tribe.

The youth points at the thark female framed in the tent doorway. "I am a man. I do what I want, were I want, and with who I want. I will breed with the daughter of the jeddak of the tharks and we will recognize the faces of our hatchlings. I will live my own life."

Looks of utter astonishment cross the faces of the tribe.

Xrodis Turg steps forward and growls out, "Tak Hufgos and Pakur Ramkus were half breed weaklings who deserved to be culled from the tribe. Two traitorious punks who deserved killing. What, you think because you killed two weakling punks that gives you the right to defy our traditions. We are wartards, we are strong, you will honor our traditions or you will be beaten then expelled nameless from the tribe."

Atag Braknar speaks, "Only a jeddak can expel a tribe member."

Xrodis Turg speaks, "I claim the right, If not Bal Sag who will not make claim, who will challange me."

No one challenges.

A triumphant look on his face and with attitude Xrodis Turg leans down to retrieve the wartard jeddak metal that still lies on the moss were the rider had tossed it. His hand clenches the metal. A foot descends on the metal preventing him from lifting it. Angrily Xrodis Turg looks up at a face that squints down at him. A familiar cigar is clenched tightly between teeth. Hands rest lightly on four pistol butts. Bal Sag.

Xrodis Turg rises and stares down into the unflinching face of Bal Sag. He feared those pistols. He backs away.

With one eye on Bal Sag and one on his tribe members he states, "What care we for the accord of Bal Sag and Tars Tarkus. Better death then to be reduced to a life that depends on thark sufferance. We were hatched wartards. Let us remain so or let us perish. Who will adhere to our heritage and principles, who will pledge their metal to mine?"

Tension fills the night air, near twenty men, pure breed warhoons, pledge their metal to Xrodis Turg.

Atag Braknar stands beside Bal Sag and announces, "I pledge my metal to Bal Sag. Xrodis Turg is a mighty warrior, a great jeddak he would make, but our situation is dire. If we are to survive it will hinge on diplomacy and resourcefulness, not brute strength."

Near twenty men gather around Bal Sag and pledge their metal to him.  
The rest of the men look on, perplexed and undecided with anxiety on their faces.  
With no unanimous decision for either one there was only one way to resolve the dispute and that was with blood.

Bal Sag takes a puff, exhales smoke, retrieves Atag Braknar's gamble bowl, his eyes swivel about the men, he entreats,  
"Will the spilled blood of one man dictate our tribe's future fate? I believe our situation is to grave, to momentous."

"I was there that day 150 years ago, when Pluxtar Ragvtus was hewn down by the warhoons and their allies. After our narrow escape many men credited me with saving the tribe, they pledged their metal to mine, but I did not participate in the bloodbath that followed. The following day after 54 combats the metal changed hands fourteen times. A useless loss of life. Never have I made claim. Today I make claim."

Bal Sag swivels his eyes on Xrodis Turg then continues, "This is a pivotal moment. Our future should not be dictated by the spilled blood of one man. I say let the man decide. I say let them cast votes. What say you?"

Xrodis Turg ruminates but before he can reply Nag Lot cries out, "2000 years ago our progenitors casted votes to decide who would be their jeddak. Shortly afterwards instead of challenging our first jeddak to outright honorable combat our second jeddak murdered him in his sleep. Our tribe was fortunate that Xipueh Toteux discovered his heinous duplicity. Under the dark one's instruments the vile culprit admitted all. Our third jeddak attained his power honorably, slaying his rivals in outright combat, not with guile and manipulation. Wise was it of Xipueh Toteux not to particapate in that vote. I will not cast a vote. It is madness."

Xrodis Turg ponders with one eye on the gamble bowl. He thumbs the edge of his bardiche, it's sharpened edge inspires confidence, it makes him invincible. Men could cast votes in the bowl or Xrodis Turg and Bal Sag could cast bones, the luck of the cast deciding whose choice of weapons would be used in combat. He looks at the well worn butts of Bal Sag's pistols. He feared those pistols. He felt assured the pure breeds would all vote for him, weakling half breeds could be intimidated. He had a revelation concerning Bal Sag. To the surprise of all he rumbles, "Let the tribe decide."

Atag speaks, "Men are to exhausted to think clearly. Let us rest, let us decide our fates in the morning."  
The men agree.

Despite the non stop fighting and riding the men had been engaged in for days they wake often, they gather in small groups, they discuss and argue.

Xrodis Turg feels buoyant, his disclosure will ensure victory in the morning, he only casts a few daunting scowls at the half breeds before he lies down to sleep. Feigning sleep he peers at Bal Sag with one eye half opened. A smile faintly touches his lips. He notes the look of concern that flickers briefly across Bal Sag's face as he adjusts the blanket of the youth that sleeps fitfully beneath his feet.

Thuria and Clorus move across the heavens as intermittent shrill screams pierce the night. With torches in hand green men hunt amonst the burning detritus of war for the trembling zodangans who hide and crawl fearfully for their lifes. Zodangans discovered by the searchlights of ships are taken captive by the heliumites. Many of those discovered by the wild allies of the tharks are torn to shreds. The heliumites who arrive to late to save some watch helplessly as drunken green men mock, hoot and holler.

Chapter 20 - The day after

Night transitions to day. Helium's loftiest tower, the scarlet tower still stands. From the top of that tower as far as the eye can see black smoke rises from fires that still burn within and without the city. Half of the city lies in shattered ruins. Heliumites work feverishly clearing rubble choked streets. Military and civilian ships fill the sky as aid pours in from the farthest reaches of the empire.

The stench of blood and death fills the air.

In front of Helium's shattered gates zodangans under close guard are seperated into work details. With rags covering their noses prisoners of war burn and bury corpses while others begin the laborious process of clearing away rubble. Other zodangans, many wounded and suffering, wait in long lines to be loaded aboard prisoner transports.

The wartards still sleep.

Red men still hide admidst the smoking battle debris that stretches for haads across the plains surrounding Helium. Zodangans that have thus far eluded capture peer fearfully thru the cracks of shattered ship hulls. Men that feigned death crawl out stiffly from underneath bloody corpses. They were the lucky ones, not discovered by the wild drunken torture squads that roved the night. Green men awake after a few zodes of sleep to resume hunting and scavanging but most remain passed out after a wild night of celebration. Zodangans rush out from concealment, dodge scattered green men, then surrender to the heliumite ships that patrol above. The zodangans do not differentiate between the tharks and their allies. Revealed by daylight, those who are captured by thark patrols are relieved when they are not put to the torture.

On the outer fringe of the debris an unfortunate zodangan is uprooted by the thark's wild allies. Not wanting to endanger the fragile truce heliumites watch helplessly and tharks watch dispassionately as the savage green men mock the poor man's piteous cries.

Nag lot was among the first of the wartards to awake. He yawns, then curses when he lifts a stump to wipe the crust out of his aging eyes. Reminded of the stump it starts to ache. He continues to lie in the soft moss and ruminates on wartard breeding programs.

1000 years of perpetual strife with their progenitors and rivals had left the tribe decimated. Convinced that their warhoon heritage made them superior surviving tribe members had been vigorously opposed to a plan to replensh the depleted population with inferior breeding stock. To alleviate fear that breeding with captured females would produce inferior stock the eggs of the captured females had been segregated. The resultant hatchlings had been marked with a half breed brand, under vigilant scrutiny those who showed any sign of weakness were promptly destroyed. Despite the brutal conditions that had been imposed upon them enough specimens had survived to warrant continuation of the half breed breeding programs. A little over 2 centuries ago they had stopped branding the half breeds but festering resentment and hostility on both sides still continued.

Nag Lot looks at the youth, now a man, who sleeps nearby him. The man who had saved his life.  
In a moment of clarity Nag Lot sets his prejudice aside and admits to himself that the onus that had been imposed upon the half breeds had been inimical to the tribe's continuation.

Xrodis Turg contemplates his brobdingnagian reflection in the crescent shaped chunk of steel that was the business end of his weapon. Three belts of mummified eyeballs; one about the lower waist, two that crisscross his chest, compliment the ritual branding scars that cover his massively muscled physique. Livid slashes stained with red ink covered his upper right arm, each slash denoting an enemy chieftain who had fallen beneath the devastating strokes of his bardiche. The dried tongues of three white apes, one he had killed with his bare hands, depended from a breastplate made out of the hide of a warhoon jeddak. Xrodis Turg was dressed in his best outfit for today was a special day. For the second time in 2000 years the wartards were having an election.

Slowly the wartards gather before the two bowls that they will cast their votes in.  
To the surprise of all, Nag Lot holds a bone chip with his mark, apparently he had changed his mind and decided  
he would cast a vote.

Standing behind his bowl Xrodis Turg rumbles out , "I will have words before men cast their votes".

Xrodis Turg proceeds to unload a slightly rehearsed speech upon the ears of the men. It was a long speech, (by green men standards). As he rambles on about the importance of maintaining honor and tradition he gnashes his teeth to emphasize key moments. As he speaks the brobdingnagian giant periodically flexes, struts his stuff, and poses in dramatic spectacular fashion to impress upon the men what a ferocious and awe inspiring warrior he is. He flexes his biceps then yells out, "We will smite the warhoons and they will howl with grief". He transitions into a pose that shows off his deltoids and lats then yells out, "We will make a mountain out of their skulls or we will all die glorious deaths." After a couple more minutes of his bizarre speech pose down he calms down and asks the men, "Is integrity a virtue that you value in your jeddak?"

Dumbfounded the men reply, "Yes".

Xrodis Turg smirks, he points at the youth and asks, "What of you, Is integrity a virtue?"  
It seemed an innocuous question but the youth suspects that it will lead to something injurious.  
Sullenly he replies, "Whose integrity do you question?"  
The smirk of Xrodis Turg broadens, he points a finger as if in accusation then asks, "How many times has Bal Sag saved you from death, boy?"  
Wondering what the giant was going to unspring, (who he considered to be an asshole), with anger creeping into his voice the youth answers, "Twice, once from a white ape and once when the warhoons broke into the nursery while I was yet a hatchling."

"Never had I seen a more restless hatchling. Always were you delving and poking were you did not belong. Always getting into trouble. Not twice boy. More times then I can count on my hand your life has been spared. Many times Bal Sag has sheltered you. Why I ask. Why?"

Xrodis Turg turns his attention to the men then continues, "How alike the youth and Bal Sag are. So alike that Atag Bracknar and Nag Lot's failing eyes can scarcely discern the two apart in a fading light. How alike. I say that the youth is the son of Bal Sag. I say that Bal Sag knows it. I say that Bal Sag has defied tradition. Bal Sag has decieved us. Bal Sag is not fit to be your jeddak."

Xrodis Turg turns towards Bal Sag then growls out, "It is weakness, it is deception, an action not worthy of one who would be jeddak. I question your integrity Bal Sag. Is this youth, who I say still has no name, your son?"

Bal Sag answers, "He is my son and I will share his fate. He has proven that he is worthy of a name. He has earned his name. His name is Tak Pakur."

The men are stunned and bewildered by the revelation. Those who had decided they would cast their mark into Bal Sag's bowl now question their impending decisions. A look of triumph settles on the face of Xrodis Turg.

A giant smile lights up the face of the youth. He resists the urge to hobble over on his crutch to his life long hero figure. His father. No tear would roll down his cheek. He would betray no sentiment that men could interpret as weakness. Upon his face and upon the face of Bal Sag the men could only detect pride. A sort of pride that baffles the men. Not the pride a green man feels when he wrecks a foe in battle.

Bal Sag turns toward his son, flashes a quick grin around his cigar, then turns his attention back to the men who require explanation.

"The female I was selected to breed with was late producing her egg."

"The night the warhoons broke into the hatchery I watched the female fight with a fury and a passion that I have never beheld in a man before. In front of the hatchery gate with naught but her tusks and a small dagger she slew three heavily armed warhoons. A warhoon sword punctured her vitals. With her last dying breaths she revealed to me that she had been late producing her egg and had incubated it in secret. With her last breath she begged me to save her hatchling. Our hatchling."

"I promised her nothing."

"The cries of hatchlings being slaughtered and suffocating smoke poured out of the hatchery.  
I entered only filled with a revenge and a raging desire to slay as many warhoons as possible.  
When I saw the hatchling was still alive and heard his cries a compulsion overcame me so that I fought my way to him.  
I fought with my three free hands as I cradled the hatchling with the other.  
A portion of the burning hatchery collapsed and the calot that had always been at my side perished.  
Warhoons fell or fell back before my swords and when I emerged from the burning building the hatchling was still cradled in my arm."

"I watched over the hatchling as it matured and as I watched I became more and more convinced that the female spoke truth and that the hatchling was indeed ours. I have watched him grow strong, he is intelligent and he is worthy to be called a wartard. I am his father and it fills me with pride."

A note of menace creeps into Bal Sags voice as he breathes out, "We will depart if we are expelled by the will of the tribe but no man shall rise his hand against us."

Silently the men mull over and digest this latest piece of information then Bal Sag continues, "If Xrodis Turg becomes jeddak you will live and die as you were before. In a no man's land constantly pursued and harassed by the enemies that crowd around you. If I become jeddak we will move into a territory that Tars Tarkus has promised us. We will renew our numbers. With the tharks at our back we will be in a position to successfully wage war against our warhoon rivals."

"Bah", Xrodis Turg interupts, "When has their been peace between wartard and another horde. The tharks can scarcely distinguish wartard from  
warhoon. Soon we would be at war with the tharks and with nowhere to run we would quicky be crushed by both the tharks and warhoons.

Atag Braknar speaks, "Men need time to think, I say we wait till the sun is at zenith".

The men agree. As they had during the preceeding night they gather in small groups and discuss and argue.

Nearby was the medical tent were Sola had tended the wounded leg of the wartard youth. Just outside that tent Tars Tarkus and Sola had been watching the wartard preceedings with great interest. Tars Tarkus noted that Sola could not keep her eyes off the strange youth who had boldly claimed that he would mate with her and that they would recognize the faces of their own hatchlings.

"What a fascinating tribe they are", exclaims Sola to her father, "Why would you set aside land for such bloodthirsty savages?"

It will be tharks on one side, warhoons on the other, and wartards in the middle.  
It will be the intention of Tars Tarkus to use us as a buffer.

Chapter 21 -

"To your feet", a voice orders.

His mouth was dry.  
His head swathed in bandages, ached.  
In fact his entire body, covered with bruises and wounds, ached.  
Pain lances thru his temples as he unsteadily obeys the command to rise to his feet.  
Blurrily he looks about him.

Nearby the remnants of a utan, along with other men are being marched towards a prisoner transport.  
A umak that the hardbitten odwar had led for only a brief period of time.  
He recognizes a few of the faces as they march past.

Nearby officers including Zat Arras and Kronak Naktar are being loaded aboard a smaller transport.

Tars Tarkus, the jeddak of the tharks and high ranking heliumite officers including Mors Kajak approach on foot  
then stop nearby. With ears still ringing loudly from yesterday's tumult the hardbitten odwar overhears their conversation.

Referring to Kronak Naktar, Tar Tarkus speaks, "I have spoken with the man. He is brilliant. It is not wise to let such a man return to Zodanga."

Mors Kajak bids a man to retrieve Kronak Naktar then replies, "Kronak Naktar will be our guest for a while, afterwards he will become Zodanga's next jeddak."

It was not to be.

40,000 green men of the lesser hordes had been left behind in Zodanga to finish it's capitulation.  
As the city burned, without the leadership of Tars Tarkus, left to their own devices, the green men fell to fighting amongst themselves. They squabbled over treasure and settled old scores. Fueds exploded. As some hordes fought Zodangans and each other, other hordes glutted with blood and treasure departed.

Quadrants of the city blocked off by their defenders and not yet defeated take advantage of the dissension of their opponents. They rally behind their barricades then with much fighting slowly push the green men out of the city.

Aside from being in league with Zodanga's most cogent assassin guilds Zat Arras also employed a large private army. Many of Zodanga's assassin guilds take refuge within his well fortified holdings during the sacking of Zodanga. Many of these holdings were by-passed as green men take the path of least resistance; murdering, looting, burning, and engaging in acts of rampant mayhem and destruction.

In fact it was the private army of Zat Arras that leads the rally that pushes the squabbling green men out of the city.  
Although Zat Arras was not present, men would give him credit for saving what was left of the city. Other men recieving the coin of Zat Arras, and his agents, would claim that it was the fault of Kronak Naktar that Zodanga's army and navy had been defeated.

Zat Arras was not a self made man. He had inherited his fortune. Shortly after his inheritance, prominent and influential family members died under suspect circumstance and the family wealth was consolidated beneath him. It was a well known fact that he was in league with Zodanga's assassin guilds substantiating rumors that he was involved in the murders and disappearances. He puplicly praised Than Kosis while he plotted against him. Unaware of the duplicity of Zat Arras the jeddak refused to indict him. Zat Arras donated large sums of money towards the vanity projects of Than Kosis. In return he had acquired irrigation rights and large tracts of farmable land abutting Zodanga's largest canals. It was his ships that transported food grown by his slaves, (He was Zodanga's largest slave owner), that fed much of Zodanga. Upon his return to Zodanga, Zat Arras was Zodanga's most powerful man and in a position to help the ravaged city.

Using his astronomical wealth Zat Arras capitilizes on the situation. Many of his political rivals were killed or left destitute after Zodanga had been ravaged and were powerless to resist as he tightened his stranglehold on the crippled city. Zat Arras pours aid into the city, men praise his name, those who claim he does it for personal gain are quickly silenced.

Kronak Naktar returns to Zodanga and recieves an hostile reception. Men revile him. Goaded by false accusations spread by the agents of Zat Arras they hurl garbage at the entourage of Kronak Naktar. Riots erupt as men scream out that they will not accept a puppet of Helium. Fearing all out civil war that will raze Zodanga to the ground Tardos Mors reluctantly proclaims Zat Arras as Zodanga's next jeddak.

Under the misrule of Zat Arras honest men will groan as Zodanga sinks into an abyss of rampant lawlessness. Assassins swagger and commit murder openly in the streets. Criminals fleeing from the justice of their own nations flock to Zodanga. They commit acts of atrocity while bribed officers of the law turn away. Citizens sickened of corruption and graft revolt with mobocracy. Harsh measures are imposed. Rioters are reduced to slavery. Men who had praised Zat Arras while they recieved his largesse will curse his name in secret.

Even though he is considered to be an indifferent swordsman Kronak Naktar evades the assassins blades only to be arrested and thrown in a cell on trumped up charges. Tardos Mors intervenes and forces Zat Arras to commute Kronak Naktar's execution sentence to exile.

Kronak Naktar resides in Helium and becomes a successful civil bureaucrat. Not content with the misrule of Zat Arras he plots and waits. He becomes wealthy and creates a spy network that infiltrates Zodanga. For 20 long years he waits. Finally during and shortly after the events that transpire in John Carter's return to Barsoom, (Gods of Mars) he will seize his opening and strike for the throne of Zodanga. A disillusioned hardbitten hard drinking dwar who spends the majority of his time (and lucre) in taverns of ill-repute finds himself in a pivotal position and his actions will affect the outcome.

That is another tale 20 years in the future but right now the adrenaline that had kept him going is gone and the hardbitten odwar (who gets busted back down to dwar) aches abominably. He knows as an officer he will be accorded preferential treatment. He watches as his utan is marched past. His men. He wanted to be with his men. With a lack of formality that was commen to him he interupts the greeting that is being exchanged between Mors Kajak and Kronak Naktar.

He points at the utan and states, "I request to be confined with my men. I will not cause trouble."

Officers were not confined with commen thans. It was a strange request. A questioning look crosses Mors Kajak's face before Kronak Naktar speaks, "Worst troublemaker in the zodangan army and record holder for most promotions and demotions. If he says he will not cause trouble, he will not cause trouble. A man of his word and I vouch for him.

Mors Kajak amusedly gives his assent. The zodangan is coarse, uncultured, but he is amazed at the vitality of the man who can still walk despite enough wounds to leave 10 ordinary men bedridden. As the hardbitten odwar is led away towards his umak Kronak Naktar speaks, "I gave him his commission during the course of the battle. It won't stand. What an odwar he would have made but for an ugly incident involving an exotic dancer and a noble who was his superior officer."

The hardbitten odwar joins his men. They shuffle along dejected and beaten only guarded by a few tharks and a couple of calots that run back and forth, one on each side of the line. A wounded man stumbles and falls out of the line. In the blink of an eye a calot leaps 300 sofads and rends the unfortunate zodangan. The tharks watch with disinterest as the frightened prisoners stop in their tracks horrified by the sight of the calot that quickly shreds the man into bloody chunks.

Men tremble on the verge of breakdown. The odwar shoulders his way to the front of the unmoving line. He turns and then gives a brief poignant speech. Forceful, eloquent and laced with profanity it rouses the men out of their apathy. Defeated yet inspired, they lift their heads, they straighten their backs, they are still men, some sing the national battle hymn of Zodanga as they march onto the transport without further incident. The odwar stands in the transport portal as the last of the wounded prisoners aided by their fellows are loaded aboard.

As the hardbitten odwar looks across the battlefield one last time he percieves his god. The god of war. The god straddles the field of carnage, his head pierces the heavens. His drawn sword is caked with blood. Steel cold gray eyes peer down onto the battlefield out of helmet eye slits. A smile is on his lips. A grim terrible smile.

How much blood had that sword drank, how much blood, the odwar muses.

Chapter 22 - A precious cargo

Winding thru the detritus of battle is a large four wheeled wagon pulled by a zodangan battle zitadar. A cannon is strapped on top of the heavily armored beast. A wartard sits astride decked out in barbaric splendor. A cigar hangs from the corner of his mouth. Bal Sag.

Kronak Naktar bitterly notes that the zitadar was once his own mount. It was the largest of the battle zitadars that had been transported to Helium and had been his personnal command mount.

From atop the behemoth mount, the sun at his back, Bal Sag squints down at the zodangan.  
"Red man, I want something."

Kronak Naktar squints back up at the wartard, a wartard he recognizes, a wartard with a high price on his head.  
A wartard chieftain whose audacious raids had forced Zodanga to abandon its colonization efforts upon wartard land. The mutilated corpses and the wholesale destruction of mining communities still haunted Kronak Naktar's memories. Bal Sag's compassion only extended so far. It did not extend to red men.

Kronak Naktar suspects a cruel jest. "What more can you take from me?"

Bal Sag replies, "Peace".

Kronak Naktar had been appraised of the fact that the wartards had ransacked Zodanga's royal library. He surmises that the treasure trove is contained within the wagon. A bitter look crosses Kronak Naktar's face, "You want peace in exchange for a wagon full of stolen treasure. No treasure can replace what your tribe ripped away from me. You can not bribe me Bal Sag."

With a tight grin clenched around the cigar that hangs from the corner of his mouth the jeddak of the wartards replies,  
"All red men have their price".

Bal Sag motions, a wartard lifts a prisoner off the back of the wagon. A prisoner that had suffered long confinement. She was bruised and bedraggled. Her attire was in rags. She had lost much weight and her eyes were hollowed but a spark still burned deep within. Never had Kronak Naktar seen someone more beautiful. With joyful cries they rush towards each other, tears course down their cheeks as Kronak Naktar sweeps Rana Kovah up in his arms and off her feet.

The rotting skull within the dark one's box was a deception.

Many years had passed since the dark one had placed a princess underneath his instruments but Bal Sag had appealed to the jeddak's greed and convinced him that Rana Kovah should be held for a possible ransom.

Kronak Naktar turns toward Bal Sag, his voice quavers with emotion, "I can not speak for Zodanga".

Bal Sag states, "If you become jeddak, you will speak, and Zodanga will desist in its efforts to eradicate what is left of my tribe".

The zodangan nods his head in agreement as he turns his attention back to his wife.

The jeddak of the wartards motions his massive mount forward, as the wagon moves past the reunited couple, he quips to his fellow wartard, "All red men have their price".

Chapter 23

Thuria and Cluros cast light upon a small caravan that tops a rise as it moves silently across a large plain filled with twisting shadows. Meteors blaze brilliantly as they streak across a star filled sky. Far in the distance watch fires mark the location of a thark encampment. Suddenly out of concealment Barsoom's most fearsome predator springs, the roar of the banth freezes his prey in place. With a single savage swipe the banth breaks the back of a rare six legged barsoomian antelope. The caravan watches and restrained calots snarl as the banth with his kill in his jaws slinks away and melts into the darkness. Bal Sag orders the caravan to halt, wagons circle, and a picket force is set.

After becoming jeddak Bal Sag's demeanor had changed somewhat. He had grinned around his cigar more frequently and been more talkative then was his usual wont. But lately something seemed to be troubling him.  
The closer the caravan got to it's destination the more Bal Sag's mood changed. He brooded and was terse with  
his men. A few nights ago the wartards had busted up a cantina and a few thark heads in a small encampment but Nag Lot and Atag Braknar speculate that something of more significance troubles their jeddak.

The observant old men had noted that Bal Sag's attitude had changed around the dark one, Xipueh Toteux.  
In fact the attitude of all the men had changed. Men could no longer look the dark one in the eye.

During the 2000 year history of the wartards small dark cults had arisen that practiced loathsome rites that honered the dark one. Once when Nag Lot was a young man he had followed the dark one away from camp hoping to learn the source of his power. He watched as the dark one held his hands out in appeal towards Jasoom as it rose above the horizon. Suddenly Xipueh Toteux crumpled to the ground as if dead. Nag lot started to investigate but retreated after the dark one's albino calot snarled at him.

That albino calot was now dead. A pikethrust from a lone red man who had mysteriously and miraculously resisted the horrific psychic assault of the dark one that had caused his entire umak to flee in dread. Shortly afterwards Xipueh Toteux disappeared for a ten day then returned with a new albino calot by his side.

Men had once speculated that Xipueh Toteux was a green man who had contrived a fount of dynamic potency. A fount that greatly enhanced his mental and physical prowess and gave apparant immortality. After the dark one's awakened full power had been unleashed upon the zodangans the men now sensed that Xipueh Toteux had never truly been a green man. Instead they sensed the dark one was actually an ancient malignant alien force of unspeakable evil that resided in the shell of a green man. A desecration. A profanation.  
A befoulment of vile diabolic putrescence that defied the laws of nature.

To fall under the instruments of the dark one was the worst of deaths. As his victims writhed in incredible agony Xipueh Toteux would dissect their innermost thoughts and then turn their worst fears against them. Mental and physical trauma that blasphemed nature. A desecration. It was the worst of deaths.

Like all green men, a wartard feared the prospect of facing a great white ape or Barsoom's deadliest predator, the ferocious banth. As wartards ruminated, the fear became palpable, now they feared one in their own midst.  
They feared the dark one, they feared Xipueh Toteux.

Bal Sag brusquely orders his men to build a fire. It was a strange order, it would betray their location. The men gather material that will burn, Bal Sag orders them to gather even more, soaked in oil the material bursts into roaring flames. The searing heat forces the men back.

Bal Sag orders the men to gather, the threat of impending violence fills the night air.  
The jeddak exhales, releases pent up tension, then breathes out, "We have a traitor in our midst".  
The raging bonfire lights up the looks of anger, consternation, and bewilderment that crosses the men's faces. Nag Lot grumbles, "We have burnt traitors before. You are doing it all wrong. The fire is much to large. When you burn a traitor you use a small fire. Let me build a fire that will prolong the vile miscreant's suffering." Atag Bracknar demands, "Who is this traitor, how did he betray us?"

Bal Sag replies, "The traitor murdered our first jeddak."

Shocked incredulity courses through the wartards. It was mind boggling and unimaginable.  
In their lore it was the second jeddak who had strangled the first jeddak in his sleep.  
Not understanding they shake their heads in disbelief. They draw back in apprehension as the only one in their midst who lived 2000 years ago approaches.

Two men face each other.

A jeddak of the green men and a devil of Barsoom. The eyes of Xipueh Toteux well out.  
Eyes black and fathomless well out and encounter eyes that blaze with hostility and death.  
Xipueh Toteux concentrates and then unleashes the most horrific potent telepathic assault ever known on the surface of Barsoom.  
Calots whine and wartards cower in fear.  
Bal Sag merely grits his teeth a little bit harder around his cigar, his eyes squint a little bit more, he grunts, then apparently unphased he blows cigar smoke into the face of the dark one. It was a deadly insult.

Xipueh Toteux with an inflection of voice no wartard had ever heard, loaded with menace and hate, hisses out, "How know you, Bal Sag?"

"I unraveled your innermost thoughts, dark one."

Bal Sag telepathically opens a portion of his mind revealing the betrayel of the dark one to the assembled wartards.  
2000 years of subtle control and manipulation including the secret murders of many tribemembers, including jeddaks.

Bal Sag speaks, "Xipueh Toteux, you are forever banished from the tribe. Leave at once or suffer death." To add insult to injury Bal Sag deliberately steps on and grinds the foot of Xipueh Toteux. It was a deadly insult.

Xipueh eyes blaze with diabolic fury as he harshly grates out, "I claim the metal of the jeddak."

Without hesitation Bal Sag answers, "I accept your challange."

The two men back away from each other, the dark one reaches for his swords, Bal Sag rests his hands on his pistol butts. Their calots growl and snarl. Bal Sag breathes out, "I am the jeddak. I am the challenged one. My choice of weapons."

Only two other wartards besides Bal Sag wore four pistols at their sides, the dark one and Tak Pakur. The dark one did not rely on his pistols as much as Bal Sag, he preferred the sword, but when needed he could draw his pistols with blazing speed and was an awesome marksman.

By tradition a claimant to the metal could withdraw his claim if he was not satisfied with his opponents choice of weapons. The dark one could have mounted and departed.

Only Bal Sag had the power to withstand Xipueh Toteux's telepathic assault.  
With pulsing blasts of fear, projections of nightmare image that would seem terrifyingly real, and mental brain domination, Xipueh Toteux could have plunged the camp into chaos and horror. Wartard would have turned on wartard. Powerless to resist, mentally dominated men would have drawn their swords and then struck down their own jeddak.

Bal Sag had blown smoke in the dark one's face. Bal Sag had grinded his foot upon the foot of the dark one. Deadly insults. Even a devil has his pride.

The devil of Barsoom lowers his hand to his pistol butts, his eyes blaze with demonic fury and his tattoos twitch and writhe grotesquely in the firelight. The devil of Barsoom hisses out, "I will wear your skin before the sun rises, Bal Sag. My calot will eat your liver and vomit your bones. I will f##k your heart."

Thru gritted teeth Bal Sag answers, "I will burn your corpse to a cinder. I will burn all your belongings, your hideous calot and even the misbegotten mount that you ride upon."

The two men stare at each other with deadly intensity, their hands hover over their pistols, their calots growl, the wartards watch with baited breath. Pistols fly out of their holsters, shots ring out, with deadly accuracy the bullets from Bal Sag's lower guns rip into the dark one's black heart. Simultaneously the bullets from the jeddak's upper pistols pierce the eye sockets of Xipueh Toteux. The back of the dark one's head explodes, blood, bone and brain matter sprays violently outward into the air. The impetus of the projectiles launches the corpse off it's feet and backwards to the ground.

Xipueh Toteux had drawn his pistols the minutest fraction of a tal slower then Bal Sag. The dark one's bullets bury themselves into the moss at the jeddak's feet.

The dark one's albino calot leaps thru the air towards the jeddak with jaws outstretched. Bal Sag's calot intercepts and deflects the course of the albino calot in mid-air. Snapping jaws narrowly miss the neck of the jeddak. The calots tumble on the ground. The albino calot strains to reach the man who had killed his master dragging the other calot whose razor sharp teeth are sunk into its shoulder. Bal Sag quickly grabs a spear and then shoves it deep down the maw of the albino calot. The jeddak violently twists the spear in the calots vitals. With a convulsive shudder the calot expires.

Bal Sag turns to his men, "Burn the body".

Men unceremoniously hurl the corpse of the dark one and his dead calot onto the raging death pyre. They gather up the personal belongings of Xipueh Toteux and toss them into the flames.  
Nag Lot moans and bitches when he fails to intercept a wartard who tosses the dark one's  
medicant pouch, (filled with painkiller), into the searing flames. He shakes a stump at the wartard who ignores him as the bag instantly conflagrates.

As the dark one, his calot, and his mount's bones glow red and crack from the intense heat, black smoke rises into the night sky. Wartards watch contemplatively and in silence.

They sense that something of historic import has happened. Not just to their tribe, but all of Barsoom. Atag Braknar decides the enormity of what just occurred is much to complex for further rumination. He cracks open a keg of ale, his one regret that he had been remiss. If he had been thinking he could have produced his gamble bowl and capitalized on the situation.

Bones turn to ash yet the men still shake their heads in disbelief.  
Nag Lot states, "I can not believe he is truly dead".  
Bal Sag casts his glance upwards. The men follow his glance. Just cresting the horizon, Jasoom shines brightly. The men look back to their jeddak as he still looks towards the bright blue light of Jasoom.

Bal Sag lights a cigar then he speaks, "Xipueh Toteux is like a sorak with nine lives. One life for each planet that spins thru our solar system. He is immortal and will return. His rage will be boundless, his full power will be unleashed and Barsoom could very well be engulfed in global conflict. The souls of millions will not slake his vampiric thirst. When he returns their will only be one man who possesses the strength to stop him. A man with a forgotten past. Before he can face the dark one it will be up to a few of us to reveal his hidden past to him.  
He will curse us as he faces the forgotten demons of his past but it will be a necessity if Barsoom is to survive."

Chapter 24  
Thru their rifle scopes thark sentries scrutinize a lone mounted green man who rides towards their encampment. A calot trails behind him. A stranger, but he rides openly across the sun drenched moss covered plain. The stranger was expected but the suspicious sentries do not lower their rifles as he approaches. Alert sentries step aside as the seemingly unperturbed stranger rides past then continues on towards their encampment. The calot looks up at them, his mouth opens wide, exposing three rows of needle sharp teeth, then yawns.

Sola scrambles her way up a slope determined not to miss the impending sunset. Above her vermilion clouds move gracefully across the barsoomian sky. A cloud filled barsoomian sunset was an extreme rarity. Not to be missed. Behind her she can faintly hear the sounds of her encampment. The bantering of men. The occasional bark of a calot. Her tribemates did not know were she was or why. She had slipped quietly away from the encampment. If she had been discovered her explanation would have been met with derision and contempt.

She reaches the top and gasps. Was it lack of breath? Was it the refulgent sunset? Or was it the young man who was sitting on the edge of the ledge were she had intended to sit? His legs dangle over the edge of the ledge. He faces the sunset. His calot is by his side. The young man turns his face towards her. Does he glean her purpose Sola wonders.

Tak Pakur gently breathes out, "It's beautiful Sola." She catches her breath with surprise. She sits beside the young man, their legs dangle over the ledge, in silence they contemplate the sunset. Sola leans in toward Tak Pakur. Two long shadows merge together and become one.

Below the ledge rolling hills slope downward then gradually give way to a large yellow moss covered plain that stretches away to more hills on a distant horizon. Large outcroppings of multi colored quartz are veined with strange minerals that reflect the last glowing rays of the sun. Winding thru the outcroppings is a large four wheeled wagon pulled by a requisitioned zodangan battle zitadar. A cannon is strapped on top of the heavily armored beast. A green man sits astride decked out in barbaric splendor. Upon his left breast was stapled a goey spine and head of a red man. Upon his right breast the paw of a banth. On his back was stitched a half dozen feet that belonged to green men that he had personally defeated in battle. About his neck a necklace of 40 mummified red man ears. A cigar hangs from the corner of his mouth.  
Bal Sag.

Inside the wagon is a precious cargo.  
It was not the priceless jewels and gold that the wartards had ransacked from Zodanga's royal libray.  
Kronak Naktar had surmised incorrectly.  
The cargo was something that Bal Sag considered to be infinitely more precious.  
It was the hope and the future of the tribe.  
Eggs in stasis.

epilogue

After being dragged an indeterminate distance by a stront current, two lost cave divers low on oxygen surface in a deep underground cavern. Strained by their harrowing ordeal they climb onto a ledge above the surface of the water. They gasp for breath then gasp with surprise when gold glints revealed by the faint lights of their flash lights. Gold, precious gold stamped with aztex designs. Sacrificial offerings in urns surround an oddly long alter in the center of the ledge. Behind the ledge on the wall are painted various representations of the aztex god of agriculture and war. Upon the alter is an oddly long burial shroud.

Dazzled by gold and priceless relics the divers temporarily forget about their dire predicament and imagine impending lives filled with opulence and extravagance.

The older diver dreams of buying a pleasure yacht and being the king of his own island, banging smoking hot porn starlets and snorting prodigious amounts of coke. Acquiring a young beautiful trophy wife who will sign an iron clad pre-nup and then rubbing her and his new wealth in the face of his aging ex-wife who had recently ran off with the pool boy.

The younger diver fantasizes about moving to Miami, buying a bright red Lamborghini and owning a luxurious woman trap "panties a dropin" penthouse on prime beachfront real estate. His own personal jet and limos laden with coke and hookers. Whale status in Atlantic city, Vegas, Monte Carlo and all the gambling capitals of the world. Copious quanities of noxious cologne, excess greasy hair products, and a expensive tailor made designer outfit reminiscent of 1970's disco slathered with gold chains. Exuding his hipness in the VIP sections of trendy clubs and clinking champagne glasses with the latest pop star sensations.

Excitedly they stuff their discoveries into waterproof knapsacks including a strange black tome covered with intricate calligraphy. Lastly and eagerly the divers lift the shroud anticipating the skeletal remains of a aztex priest king of old adorned with priceless artifacts. Eagerness gives way to astonishment when they peel back the shroud revealing a large dark green humanoid shaped head. Large gleaming white tusks curve upward from the humanoids lower jaw.

"Diablo!" The younger diver recoils, he backpeddles to the edge of the ledge, spooked, he hastily lowers his diving mask over his face.

The older diver who had recoiled recovers from his astonishment then resumes his inspection of the humanoid. Cavern walls echo to a piercing shriek. Eyes black and fathomless well out and engulf the older diver's consciousness. The younger diver lets out a bleet of terror muffled by his diving mask then leaps into the water. Fortunately for the young man the strong current that had swept him into this cavern of riches transformed to cavern of terror now sweeps him away.

The humanoid vivisects the jasoomian's consciousness and gleans his perspective on current world happenings. Up above awaits a sick world filled with greed, lust, perversion, depravity and endless war. Pollution, filth, disease, weapons of mass destruction, genocide, misery, starvation, and mind numbing squalor. Populations of wealthy nations that distract themselves with the latest technological gadgets while the rest of the world languishes in abject poverty. A world divided.

With ease the humanoid picks up the diver, swings him around by the feet and then dashes his brains out on the cavern wall. He rumages thru the diver's knapsack then retrieves the sacrificial knife that the jasoomian had pilfered. He opens up a sealed sacrificial urn then cuts open the jasoomian's chest cavity. He squeezes the blood out of the jasoomian's heart into the opened urn. As the blood drips it mixes with the white powdery substance that is contained within the urn. The resultant mixture froths and fizzles and takes on a lurid phosphorescent glow.

The humanoid consumes the elixir, throughout the centuries an elixir he had consumed many times. Elixir courses thru his system densifying his skeletal and muscular structure enabling him to cope with Jasoom's gravity.

The hideous reality is exposed when the humanoid shines the diver's flashilight on the cavern wall.

Partially covered by the diver's blood and brain matter the paintings on the wall depict ghastly rituals of aztex sacrifice. Priest kings wearing the flayed skins of men force captured enemies to fight each other to the death. On bloodstained alters the priests cut the still beating hearts out of the survivors chests then offer them up on smoking braziers to a god in grisly sacrifice.

All except one of the depictions of the god were similar to various representations that have been unearthed at numerous archaeological dig sites. The exception depicted an innermost secret circle of priest kings sacrificing in a deep cavern hidden from the populace to what they believed was a true god. With heads bowed they presented still beating hearts smoking on braziers to a large six limbed dark green god. The god inhales the sacrificial smoke, appeased he gives his benediction. Plentiful crops and continued success in war.

Upon the death of Montezuma 1 in the year 1469 the dark one had returned to Barsoom and was not present when Hernando Cortez and his band of adventurers had ridden into Tenochtitlan in the year 1519. If he had been present would the dark one have interfered and altered the course of jasoomian history?

Xipueh Toteux's dark green skin was covered with tattoos that depicted disturbing scenes of extreme violence.  
Unlike his destroyed barsoomian copy the tattoos on his jasoomian copy were of mesoamerican artwork.

His barsoomian copy had been burnt to ash, he could not astrally project back to Barsoom but there was another way. For over a hundred jasoomian years he had waited trapped in the cavern in a state of suspended hibernation. The dark one obliterates the one painting that shows his true form. Using materials within the cave he makes adjustments to the diver's oxygen tank harness and breathing apparatus. The dark one straps the tank to his back, inserts the breathing apparatus into his mouth, and then with flashlight in hand leaps into the rushing water.

He needed two items to enable his return to Barsoom. An ancient hidden transference device and an item that the younger diver had placed in his knapsack when he had escaped from this cavern of dark horror. The item was a book bound with strange black leather and covered with intricate calligraphy. Barsoomian symbols that one might describe as artistic and beautiful were hand painted within. With powerful strokes, Xipueh Toteux or Xipe Totec as he is called on earth fights the strong current and swims toward the surface


End file.
